Dawn
by SnowEyes
Summary: [Hiatus] When Naraku kidnaps Shippou and Sango, Miroku is forced to make a desperate journey to rescue them alone. And, unfortunately, the only person who seems to be able to guide him is a wind sorceress that he can no longer seem to hate... [MirokuKagu
1. Realization

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Disclaimer: No, I'm not making any money off of this. I'm just a poor thirteen-year-old with a bad disposition and a strong liking for strange alternate pairings that, more or less, don't make any sense whatsoever. Please, by all means, sue, so I can laugh heartily in your face, and don't expect any money coming out of me. 3

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Summary: Naraku has kidnaped Sango and Shippou, and Miroku finds himself on a solo journey to rescue them. The problem? He doesn't have a clue where to find them, and the only one who can show him happens to be a wind goddess who he can't seem to hate anymore… [Kagura/Miroku]

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Notes: Italics are thoughts or emphasis on a word, such as _hey_. It also is used for dream sequences and flashbacks. As you can see, I happen to like italics. If you would like to know when this story is updated, please go to my user page for the link to my mailing list, and sign up! Once added, you'll get all the updates on my stories and such. ^_^ Revised as of 02/18/04, thanks to the suggestions made by Lynnxlady (go hug her, everyone). This probably will be rewritten many times over again in the future too.

Acknowledgements + Dedications @ Bottom.

٭ | **Dawn** | ٭

  
An Inuyasha Epic by SnowEyes

Chapter One: Realization

It was the season of the light rose.  
  
The glorious Indian summer had only just begun. They tracked through fields of hay and golden wheat, the long stalks whispering to the ground as the trees along the edges of the forests bristled at the touch of a human hand. The vines along the forest floor crinkled their leaves at the far away sun, and held fast to the terrific trunks of the trees, cracked bark peeling from the old spirits of the stalks. Smooth rains during the light spring had covered the soil with a light dusting of dampness, the red earth clinging to the sides of wooden sandals as they moved across the light dirt of the pathways, the sun softly pattering on their backs and the short breezes at their back. 

And two beautiful human girls stood in the midst of it all -- the harvest moon just barely beginning to appear by the side of the horizon -- and took a deep breath of the sweet air.

He grinned at them, as he leaned against his shakujo in the dimming light of the late afternoon, watching them swing their resident fox-cub into the air as the small fox giggled with glee from side to side. He spread his fingers into the bright grass still covered with morning dew. They'd hiked through the damp rice pastures and waving shields of wheat through the day, stopping ever so often to greet demons and humans alike on the long winding mountain paths. This was his sanctuary -- he'd been born in a mountain shrine, one built long ago by his grandfather's ancient hands, and the air alone released the tension in his shoulders. He felt more alive then he had in weeks; his lungs filled with the magnificent air that, besides making him very dizzy, made him feel full and relaxed and _happy_. 

Miroku could not remember the last time he'd been happy.

Kagome had left her bike at home as a decision to walk with the rest of them, and obviously was very proud of herself for not making a single peep of complaint to the traveling group as they went along. She and Sango had chatted merrily as they'd continued with long wooden branches for hiking sticks, while he himself had played quiet games with Shippou and let the cub sleep on his shoulder. Inuyasha had clasped his hands inside his robe and led them as usual, and had answered Kagome's bright questions with customary grunts, but she didn't bother him about it, and they were, for once, free of the bickering that the two seemed to engage themselves in day and night. And now they were here, in the paved fields of gold before Kaede's village, and the forest that loomed in front of them, dark and brushed with sky.

Inuyasha, of course, being Inuyasha, was now sitting cross-legged above him at the top of the hill, and paid no mind to any of it; his feet were tucked under him and his arms were crossed in front of his chest in a huff. His long white hair flowing over his red robe as he sat solitary on the hill. He was… "Oi," he called up to his younger companion with his head tilted, questioning, "Inuyasha, are you _pouting_?" 

Grunt.

"Yes or no?"

Grunt.

"Fine," Miroku mumbled. The hanyou was probably just sick with anger at Kagome's leaving; he scolded himself silently for even wondering of the reason. They'd finally stopped for the night -- the summer days were longer, and they'd decided that, rain or shine, they'd stop to eat and rest at sunset. He glanced back at Kagome, who was laughing lightly and beaming rays of goodness that made his heart lighter just looking at her, and sighed. _At least her heart knows what it wants…_

He decided to forget about it and sighed contentedly, wrapped his arms behind his head, and grinned a few moments later as a certain savvy female swayed over to him and plopped -- gracefully, of course -- to the long grassy knoll beside him. She was cradling a furry red ball in her arms, close to her chest, which hummed with light sighs. 

"Sango-chan," he said quietly, wrapping his fingers around the ball of fluff and transferring the yawning cub into his lap, "where did…"

She pointed softly up to the top of the hill and he nodded, understanding, as she stretched her arms and yawned, then lay down beside him on the soft grass. He watched as her eyelids fluttered gently till they reached the end of their journey. 

His fingers began to twitch.

He sat on them.

H got up quickly and walked quietly toward the nearby field with Shippou in his arms. She hadn't had much sleep recently, he thought, biting his bottom lip, and that was partly due to him. An odd feeling crept along his spine and made him squirm uncomfortably, and after a moment he recognized it as guilt.

Well. _That _was unusual. 

The last glimmerings of light disappeared below the horizon of the endless line, pink clouds fluffed softly, melted with golden mounds like butter in the sky. A small, wet nose rubbed against his hand sleepily. "Nachan," came the small whine from the form in his arms, "I wanna go sit by K-Ka-" Yawn. "-_Ooo_me."

__

Nachan… his stomach twirled in surprise and he felt an irrepressible grin crossing his face, and he ruffled the blue bow that was tied from the small demon's hair and tweaked the small nose. "Alright," he managed, now glowing, "…sure." 

He stared back up at the lady in question, who was currently leaning against Inuyasha, hands wrapped in the hanyou's, and he swallowed. Looked back at the blinking boy in his arm. Couple. Boy. Couple. Boy. "Umm…" he murmured, and moved a hand behind his back, biting his lip. "They're busy."

Shippou blinked sleepily up at him, mumbled something about filthy dogs, and snuggled deeper into his anointed older brother's robes, burying his nose in the crook of his arm. Miroku's grin was now taking up a very substantial part of his face; so _that _was what it felt like. He sat at the edge of the grassy knoll where the hill met the dirt path across from the wheat field, and stared down at the snoring boy in his arms, the demon's fluffy brown tail waving in his face and tickling his nose.

"Houshi-sama...?" A light hand fell on his shoulder and looked up to see Sango with a soft smile on her face and quiet defiance in her eyes, her hair wrapped in a thick braid around her shoulder, her face still flushed with sleep. "There's a stream near the forest," she said, "Kagome-chan and I will go to the well, and then I will go to bathe with the girls of the village, and --"

Her eye twitched at his delighted look; two seconds later he was sprawled out on the ground, and she was smiling somewhat detachedly, yawning, and -- unconsciously, of course -- his eyes sprawled down for a hint of cleavage… 

__

(How does she do that?) he thought lazily, his head pounding as he clutched Shippou, his vision whirling as he stumbled a bit up the hill. He winced as a pair of sharp tiny claws flexed against his chest. _(And how does he manage to sleep through all that?)_

He waved to Kagome and Sango with finality as they transferred their packs to their shoulders and walked down the hill waving back, and sighed quietly. He was suddenly very _tired _and sat back down. He nodded as Inuyasha began a brisk pace towards a forest path in the opposite direction of the girls, obviously off to go hunting; Miroku was glad. The hanyou had been restless since the last new moon -- perhaps this would calm the boy's nerves a bit. He was, after all, still a boy, and was still as moody as any human teenager.

Long day, it'd been -- two demons with Shikon shards and three evil humans which just apparently "happened" to pass their way. He'd reached a quiet theory that these youkai either _wanted_ to be killed or they were just insane... yawn. The ground was deliciously warm... anyway…

…Anyway…

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========

…He was standing on the edge of his grandfather's grave.

He stood there, hands clenched, teeth bared, at the large, grass-covered grater at his feet. As he looked down the crater that seemed to deepen the closer he stared at it, panic gathered itself behind his eyes and he began to shake; fog shifted across the edges of his vision, and all he could see was that -- that thing. He was shrinking, shrinking, and the crater was deepening, deepening, until the bottom of it could not be seen save for pitch dark black. It was widening, now, too, the edges beginning to curl at the tip of his sandals, and he heard his own choked scream float past his ears. He was a boy again, nothing but a boy, the hard chorus of his breathing pushing his lungs up and outward as he wailed as the blood red of the sky suddenly flooded his vision.

"Otousaan!" he screamed. "Otousaaaaan!!"

His feet now suddenly refused to move and he was rooted to the spot with fear being pulsed in endless waves through his blood, and with a loud cracking noise, the world fell apart, and he was falling -- falling! -- and he could see no more of the red sky or the waving grass or the shrine in the center of the crater -- nothing but darkness and he screamed --

--And sat up with a gasp, panic rising and falling in his chest as he fought for breath, and peered around him with acute fear, his head swimming, his eyes blinking rapidly as he strained to see around in the pitch black. He panted with perspiration and stood dizzily, holding his shakujo so tight that his knuckles turned white, and whirled around, squinting in the dark light that shone down from the sliver of the moon above his head. The field was dark, save for the moon. His legs were suddenly weak and he sat down heavily, ran a shaking hand through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling beads of sweat adorning his temples and neck. It was then that he realized it, and stiffened, his hands running through thin air, his eyes so wide they stung.

"Shippou?" he whispered.

And _that_ was when he heard it.

The scream was wavering and high-pitched, ringing in his ears like bells, the indignant squawks of wild birds that had been disturbed from their roosting nests chorusing from the flocks overhead. The sound of it pierced through his chest like a purifying arrow, and shock briefly staining his vision black, pressing him to his feet. His heart pounded fretfully in his chest as the sudden dead silence fell over him like a suffocating blanket, and he whimpered streaming curses under his breath, tearing across the thick patches of grass and cutting through the darkness with shaking fingers. 

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"Inuyasha."

He snarled, the blood running across his lips staining his mouth with a copper taste that made him dizzy with power, his fangs biting deep into the edges of his curled lips. His heartbeat pulsed in his arms as he moved swiftly, his legs bending and flexing over felled trees and old wicket branches knurled with age, and screamed at the feeling of his flesh being torn to bone at the touch of cold sword hilt. 

__

"Naraku, you bastard," he spat, blood staining his vision red. _"You'll pay for this."_

The voice came from all directions, flitting in between the old spirit trees of the forest. "What?" It came, quietly, mockingly, from the shadows, the tone of it making him want to tear shreds upon shreds of skin. "For this --" There he was, in front of him, the white fur of the monkey pelt gleaming silently in the light of the moon, the claws tearing into the base of the spine of a small girl child, blood streaming from the gashes in her neck. Her eyes were blank and wild with knowledge of the dead. "--For this _child_?" A grin showed itself from below the mask. "Hn. Why, Inuyasha! I expected so much _better_ of you."

__

"She had nothing to do with this," he heard his voice ring out, rage pulsing in every syllable. "She had _nothing_ to do with it! Monster. _Monster._" His hands shook along the hilt of the fang at his side, the glowing bone illuminating the blood that trickled from various wounds across his chest down along his legs and feet, gashes leading across his back and arms bleeding fretfully. He didn't feel them. 

"I'LL TEAR APPART EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY!" He screamed, lifting the fang above his head. _"I'LL KILL YOU!"_

But as he screamed, the fang crashing to the ground, pain gripped his body like an avalanche and he fell to the roots of the trees with a startled cry, claws clipping at bark as blood trickled down his face. The white monkey flitted within an instant to his side, the boy's blood staining the pale fur of the costume itself. 

"Kukuku." The soft whimpering breaths of the dog-boy beneath the white fur rose and fell laboriously, as Inuyasha hurled himself to his feet, clutching his arms against his chest, legs torn and cut. Blood was everywhere; he spat, blood mixing with saliva and melting into the earth, and cursed loudly as the monster in front of him laughed with sweetened malice.

"Boy," came the soft murmuring. "You are _nothing_ to me, boy." Swish swish. "Nothing. I could kill you in an instant, boy, I could kill you in an instant. In fact…" Bright white teeth flashed at him in the darkness, vines wrapping themselves around his legs and sucking the blood from his wounds, making his head feel light and his heart pound in his ears. "I think I already have."

"S-shut up." Something lodged in his throat painfully as he glanced fleetingly at the girl child hanging from the bloodstained digits of the monster, her slick and long black hair falling over her eyes, her kimono torn and ripped to shreds. His claws dug into his palms, drawing more blood -- Gods, the blood was everywhere, everywhere, he couldn't… he couldn't smell anything but the scent of his own God damned blood --! "S-Shut up, I'll --" Swallow. "I'll kill you…"

"…Really?" Pointed claws flashed out of the darkness. "I would think that it is appearing to be the other way around, fool."

"Inuyasha!" A hand spread itself in front of his face and he was sprawled out on the ground once more, choking on sour-tasting mud, and the sound of air tunnels blurring rapidly in his ears, with the sound of laughter mixing in cheerfully.

"Miroku!"

"Aa, Inuyasha!" the monk yelled over the whirl of the kazzana, then, "MOVE!"

They both hit the ground, rosary beads covering their faces, as a whirl of yellow-covered wasps flew past where the hanyou's head had been only a moment before.

"W-why?" He choked out, gripping the edge of the Tetsuiaga with white knuckles as he pushed himself to his feet, gasping for air, Miroku's white face wavering between shock and rage beside him. "Why are you doing this, bastard?"

A single outtake of air. "I thought you knew." The monkey itself flashed in front of the hanyou, the grin from the human face dripping with amusement. "Didn't you? I thought you knew." The claws pulsed together in a clap, and the moon showed through the trees in a light caress along the tips of the robe of the fire rat, and the sight that awaited the half-demon known as Inuyasha would have torn many to pieces.

"…Buddha…" 

It was a field of poppies, covered in the sea of moonlight, the forest floating on the edges as if it were afraid to venture further, and the cold breaths of wind that whispered laughter through the trees coveted a presence to him, and his knees shook, suddenly, uncontrollably. A boy in thick black robes (_thatfacethatscent_). In the field. In front of him, in front of all of them, the poppy seeds rushing from the sides of the long red flowers, the boy's face immersed in the poppies. He could smell the scent of blood, suddenly, overpowering, the scent of blood that wasn't his own, _Gods_, it wasn't his own, and the goosebumps that rose and fell across his arms.

The scent of blood, that, was twirled in the embraces of the scent of death.

"…Kohaku," Inuyasha heard Miroku whisper, his voice hoarse with dread.

"He was of no further use." 

The wind blew fretfully, and it tore at Miroku's eyes, making them water, his arms too weak to lift to cover them. Wind. He looked up, feeling his stomach twist and fall, anger forgotten as Sango's face flashed in front of him, and then biting back a cry as it wisped away to form a different woman's face. One he _loathed_. Rage burst through his shock and he stumbled blindly toward the figure sitting on the edge of a white floating feather, her feet dangling daintily above his head. "YOU!"

She lifted the fan in her left hand, and sliced through the air with a dainty movement, which tore him back and threw him with a sickening thump to the trunk of a tree, vomit sticking at the back of his throat. Her free hand touched up gracefully to her hair as she stepped with a flourish on to the soft bed of poppies, drawing hairpins, which were flung carelessly into the material of his robes, pinning him to the trunk. "Me."

"BITCH," he heard Inuyasha scream. "WHAT DID YOU DO!?"

"_I_ did not kill that child." Laughter.

Her voice. It was amused -- (damnherdamnher) -- but it sounded hard, as if she had to throw the words out of her mouth, as if they stuck to her tongue. She sounded almost… But he shook the thought away, pain draining his senses of reason, and dread pulsing through the parts of his body that he could feel as he heard the thunk of a skull against wood. 

"I did _not_!" The amused tone had suddenly pitched into high anger… "--I did not!" She held her fan in a tight fist at her side, her teeth biting her lip, and without warning she flipped and delivered a high slap to the hanyou's face, wind blowing in all directions and lifting her hair in an arch. "You will not accuse me of such things! I had nothing to do with it!" She smiled, then, her kimono whipping about her legs in the clear wind. "It was not my teeth that ripped that sour flesh."

"Feh," Inuyasha whispered hoarsely, blood trickling down his eyelid. "You are an offspring of Naraku."

"The boy died of his own stupidity!" She took a step back, rage staining her cheeks red. "I would not dirty myself with his blood, fool --"

"Stupidity?" Miroku spat, as he pulled on the binds holding him to the tree. "The boy was nothing more than a doll -- nothing more than a toy to throw away after playing with it beyond use!" 

"Well done, houshi!" She glanced at him, her eyes full and red and open with surprise, laughter staining her tone once more, and that infuriating smile tipping at the corner of her lips. "You have reminded me. You," she said to the figure behind the trunk. "You have done what you have been bidden." She flipped open the fan once more with a click, and sliced it down with a tight look at the sound of cracking wood, and ashes whisked themselves beyond his face into the night air. A puppet. 

"The cub," she continued, sitting once more on the floating feather, "provoked Naraku." A think smile showed at the corner of her lips. "He spoke rashly to his highness. He did not know his place. So." She gestured to the corpse behind her, swinging her legs ever so softly. "Naraku taught him."

"Bullshit," Inuyasha snarled. "He didn't want to deal with the cub any more, so he killed him and didn't give a fuck."

She laughed, high-pitched and controlling. "Who would have thought a mere hanyou boy could be such a simple judge of character?" Her smile erased itself without a thought, and her claws gripped at the fan in her fingers, angrily. "I think I should kill you for that, boy." 

"Why don't you, then, bitch?"

She was silent, quiet rage echoing in waves off her body.

"Keh." The white haired youth spit blood to the ground, a knowledgeable grin spreading across his face. "Naraku told you not to, didn't he?" Pained laughter erupted from his mouth. "Who thought that such a self-righteous _bitch_ could be such a daddy's girl?" 

(Girl.) Miroku's rage suddenly suspended into shaking anger, which pulsed just below his eyes. He stared at her, wind flowing through the red flowers at his feet, shrinking with a sickening realization that curved at the back of his mind. (Oh. Oh no --)

"W-where --" He stammered. "Where --"

"Your lover girl." Her tone was suddenly very quiet. He couldn't hear it very clearly amongst the whispering of the poppies. Her face was turned toward him, lips red and pursed, and she looked at him, fangs glistening with blood drawn from her lips, smile still present, yet never reaching her eyes. "The kitsune cub." She raised a soft hand worn with welts along the palm, her voice echoing in the dark night. "Kanna --" The quiet nothingness of a girl rose from out of the shadows of the trees, her white hair flowing in circles around her shoulders, and brought the shimmering mirror to his face, the surface gleaming in the light of the moon. Mist rose along the edges of the light, and he found himself staring down into it, mesmerized by horror. "Show them."

__

-- they were wrapped in a thin layer of blood along thick black blankets and there were gashes along their throats and cuts along their arms and chests their clothing torn and ripped and he could not breathe and there was a choked gasp of air and he wasn't sure whose it was -- 

"…What is…" He heard Inuyasha say as if from far away, rage sweeping the hanyou's tone with weariness and pain. "Where..."

"The poison." he heard her reply, that superior tone soaring above his head. "My feathers, boy-child."

His heart pounded fluidly, numbly. He felt her stare on his face and he looked up at her, too numb to feel much of anything, watching as she stared at his eyes, the vision of her face wavering in between hatred and laughter.

Perhaps she expected him to cry.

He never cried.

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I'd like to thank this amazing beautiful crazy fantastic authoress, and she would be Thunk, the queen of the alternate pairing section of ff.net. If you haven't read her wondrous stories, you're missing out on a heck of a lot, darling, they kick _butt_. She gave me the stamina to do this story AND was the one who gave me all the resources of Inuyasha-ness I own, so I owe her beyond mucho, and I hope she enjoys the fruit of my labors. I'd also like to thank another fellow VALL member, Ishi Ban, who reads sections of this story before they even reach the final stage, and gives me proper ego-bursting in order to continue. My friend Nenriel, who was an Inuyasha fan way before me; and of course everyone who volunteered information to get this up -- I love you all.

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Reviews are accepted with much squealing and love; flames are hilarious.


	2. Understanding

٭ | **Dawn** | ٭

Chapter 2: **Understanding**

...He was staring at the shakujo in his hand.

His hand gripped the staff at his side; the knuckles wrapped around the edge of the smooth wood were slowly turning white and the hearth that he lay by was crackling at his knees. The flame was different each time it licked a piece of brush, and he marveled at it to distract himself as the sickening feelings in his stomach passed through the different phrases that he'd learned to ignore. Somewhat.

"Boy-houshi."

"Hn," he whispered.

Soft hair fell over his face as someone bent gently over him, soft whispers echoing behind him as he felt soft fabric rubbing the flesh of his cheek. Sleeves were folded softly over hands that materialized around wrapped pairs of bandages which wrung themselves over his arms, blood tracing wounds and copper lining the roof of his mouth.

"You are a fool." 

The world swam in light, and he swallowed a cry that threatened to erupt from his mouth at any minute. Blurry reflections stung at his eyelids and he started, hands grabbing at the sudden flash of pain along his chest. He stared up into the white and felt himself hiss with biting rage that was returned without hesitance. "You," he snarled, gripping at the bandages across his waist but feeling himself slip to the ground below, thorns of pain spearing his side."What--"

"Quiet." He felt a cool sensation across his chest and his eyelids fluttered as he opened them,aching for the feeling of rubbing his sore temples. There was thefeeling soft sort of cream along the tight bandages that coveredhis skin; her voice floated in, blurry, and he felt his head being gently lifted and his fingers pried from his shakujo at his side. "Boy-Houshi who travels with youkai and ningen, you are a fool." She whispered, e choes of screams pulsing through her voice.

"--Kanna." His voice was quiet.He knew his fate.

She shook her head and tightened the bandages along his arm, white hair flowing past her ears in the light from the haphazard mirror placed at her side. The houshi was a fool indeed. To give himself so willingly to those that he must know meant him harm; thin fingernails tapped on the edges of pure glass. She would not die down in her fight, if she were captured. The souls would never cease to overflow through the barriers of the mirror, and she would not be hungry...

His head was turning, and she sat with her toes wrapped around her body as his gaze widened in the dim light, and he saw the face of his companion at his side. She knew what he saw -- black hair flowing over bandaged shoulders and lips bruised and cut. TThe hanyou's wounds had been easy to treat; the boy was half youkai, after all. He would heal. She had no real knowledge of humans. Not from the knowledge given to her at her birth, and not in the small glances given her by the souls she was able to take from the endless armies that had tried to besiege Naraku's castle. They had all failed, of course. Kagura gave no mercy.

Kanna pressed her lips together. Kagura had not killed these two, and Kanna felt a strange pang of curiosity at it that she did not feel often. There had to be a reason.

Kagura had no heart. Neither did she -- but she did not truly care, as Kagura breathed and lived to be free. She did not have the disease that Kagura had: the itch to be free to roam about as she wanted, to move and sing and dance and claim all that she had as her own. Kagura's illness did not touch Kanna, no, but she knew her younger sister craved for it. Freedom was not something that Kanna understood, but she understood the ache that she would feel were Kagura to be killed.

It would be same the ache she had felt as she had watched her brothers die. Worse.

The houshi cried out suddenly and she stared at him as he sat up without tact, eyes fixed on the mirror at her side, horror etching his strong features. He began to pull against the ropes binding his arms to the floor, never noticing the wounds tearing open across his body or the fresh blood that had begun to flow from them. Her handiwork fell undone, bandage by bandage, as he tore at the cloth wrappings with a fierce desperation, words falling out of his mouth jumbled with worry, aimed at the hanyou at his side. She sat quietly, watching him tear at the wounds, watching the work of several hours become undone with amusement as he realized the significance of the dark sky. 

There was no moon.

An animal in its pain should always be treated with mercy, she reflected, and let out a breath, dead eyes lighting with subtle curiosity. And she moved quickly; she knew the ways of humans from the souls she tasted by day and ate by night. They were never to be trusted -- and these two were worse. They journeyed far and wide to destroy Naraku. Her very presence on the plane which her feet touched was dependent on the fact that they _could not succeed._

So, decision made, she stood and drew the mirror to her side. He began to shake uncontrollably as she stood with the glass on her hip, sweat pouring down pale skin, and she shook her head silently. She despised humans. Disgusting creatures; she hated them. The hanyou at the houshi's side was no better; human now, he stank like one and fared no better than a normal human would-- perhaps in this, he was worse than his companion. 

The mirror called out to her, crying for the souls that were so helpless before her. She hushed it. Brushing fingers over the surface of the glass like liquid, she spread her hands with souls, and quietly reached to the boy houshi in front of her, pressing his ungloved fingers with the essence of the poor dead souls.

He made no sound as his pupils turned steadily white, and fell to the floor below. 

That was unusual. They screamed, usually. She frowned slightly, disappointed. She'd wanted that scream, and she'd wanted the tears that fell like streams over the edge of waterfalls, and she'd wanted the quiet shaking that fell from the bodies, and the words that brushed themselves from their mouths. Nightmares, she reflected upon the shining surface of the mirror, had almost souls, and she could see the flitting demons flying about their heads. Fear should have been playing upon their features; but they were lax, injured, silent. _She hated humans_.

He only spoke one word, and it was a name. "...Kagura..."

She looked down at him and at the hanyou who bled so fretfully and bared pearl white teeth. She could smell the souls. She hungered for them; but curiosity overwhelmed the hunger, and she sat quietly by the door and waited for Naraku.

Kagura had not killed them. There had to be a reason.

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Higurashi Kagome was in heaven.

Lathered soap bubbles burst over her nose with warm, comforting water swishing over her knees, and the thick, heady scent of cherries wafting gently above the steam that covered the mirrors at her sides with fog. She flexed her toes and spread her fingers wide over the white fuzz covering her body and sighed with a deep contentment. 

It was only logical, she nodded to herself lazily, that taking a bath should be the first thing done when one comes home from a time where the only baths one could take were in freezing cold lakes. Now, freezing cold lakes were actually quite lovely during abnormally hot weather, but in the time she had spent so far with her friends in Sengoku Jidai, hot weather had seemed to evade them (for which they were very thankful.) Shippou had told her before of terribly hot summers that he'd had in his Pa's land in which his poor tail had drooped and his tongue had fallen out of his mouth and his fur had gotten wet and sticky with sweat. Somehow these conversations always ended up with her squeezing Shippou and giving him all the candy that she had left in her bag.

Oh, there was another thing. She had to buy more candy.

Somehow, she realized hazily as her fingers flexed over the bubbles in her hair, that time that had gone by in the past so fleetingly before had seemed more natural, lately. More lengthened. She didn't really know how this could be because from the first moment she stepped back into the world of which she had so fondly become accustomed to, she would, of course, get pulled into another bloodthirsty fight. This _always_ ended up with her seeking out another jewel shard, and Inuyasha killing another youkai, and Miroku flirting needlessly around Sango, and Shippou tugging on her own hair, and more bickering between herself and Inuyasha. 

It wasn't normal, she found herself thinking, startled; it was getting very _boring_. And pointless.She wasn't tired of it, exactly -- how anyone could get tired of the amount of fresh air and hunts and just the amount of incredible things that she and her friends did everyday was beyond her -- but it was constricting, somehow. It was always the same. The fights she shared with Inuyasha were nearly all about the same thing -- how she stayed at home too long, how she never did anything right, how stupid he was, how mean and rude he was. It was just a cycle she couldn't seem to break free of; they had the same fights over and over anyway, no matter how hard she tried to stay quiet.

"Souta," she called, draping over a slick wet leg over the side of a tub, shaking the unsettling thoughts away. "Bring me a towel, would you?"

"Sure." Her little brother edged into the room, a towel flung carelessly over his arm. He gripped some manga in his left hand, and, after tossing her the towel with not much ceremony, sat on the edge of a wooden stool at the end of the hall and commenced reading. She gazed at him quietly as she wrapped her hair into a twisted bun, wet strands layering softly along the edges of her neck. He was getting so big, she realized with a pang. Taller, and a little thicker too. Already she could see girls falling at his feet in the back of her imagination. Those bangs needed to grow out a bit, and his cheeks to lose some more baby fat, but he would be a true heartbreaker, the little guy.

_But,_her mind whispered treacherously. _You won't be here for any of it._

_That's not true,_ she thought back fiercely - and to prove her point, she stamped with exasperation on the white weaved mat beneath her feet. _I only have until we finish collecting the Shikon shards, and then I can -- I can come back whenever I want!_

But that wasn't really true. She walked quietly down the hall, and padded into her room, drawing the door shut, and leaned her forehead up against it, closing her eyes and touching the soft panels with soft fingertips. It wasn't fair, she admitted silently to herself. She was being selfish. She had promised herself long ago not to be angry about not being able to see her family every day. She had accustomed herself not waking up to the light aroma of coffee and fried eggs and not being able to watch her mother chop fish skillfully every night and not being able to see Jiisan talking to the old men of the neighborhood or Souta riding his bike She'd promised herself.

She kicked the legs of the wooden chair next to her feet in exasperation, and earned herself a stubbed toe. "Ouch," she whispered, and spread her fingers across her face, biting her bottom lip until it was sore. 

She missed her family. But at the same time, she couldn't remember what home was anymore.

A loud rumbling noise made her jump. Looking down, she sighed softly and neatly bent down to pat her pet. "Oh, Buyo," she said quietly, scratching behind the cat's ears. "You're the one who got me into this mess, huh?" A loud purr answered her and she felt the corners of her mouth quirk upward just a little. "Yeah, that's right, purr all you want. Fat cat. Souta ought to be feeding you less. You're so big and plump. What are we going to do with you?" Scratch, scratch, scratch. "Hmm. I'm sure some villagers might want you for dinner..."

"Meeeow."

"Yeah, I wouldn't like being eaten either." Her hands traveled up to her temples and she rubbed them absentmindedly, feeling a foretelling ache behind her eyelids. Another migraine."Ehhhh," she steamed. "Maybe I really am getting sick. Maybe that would be nice, I mean not lying anymore," she told the cat at her feet, as she drew some clothes from some dresser drawers. "It would be nice to tell Hojo the truth, for once..."

She got dressed quickly and pulled some slippers onto her feet, wincing at the thick calluses that had been created from weeks of walking non-stop. Kagome padded toward the kitchen, humming a light song -- 

--And fell to the floor in a slump, a single hiss of pain escaping her mouth as she pressed a hand to the side of her waist. _Her waist? It seemed so long ago that she'd found him, it, she, there._ She whimpered, and gripped at her side, and let out a dry sob as she drew her fingers to her face, covered with thick blood, the color of the sky outside the window. Not being able to breathe. Not being able to breathe. She moved her hand to her neck in a vain effort to gasp a breath, and snapped the necklace from around her neck: the shards. The shards! The shards the shards the shards. They could not -- they were not --

A deep purple.Sunk through with the hue of violets.

Blackness enveloped her -- she could no longer feel the wall beneath her damp fingertips -- and she screamed, and hissed with pain, and saw it happen before her eyes: Shippou-chan. Sango-chan. Somewhere -- far away -- and then vines obscured her sight, and her last vision was of... _Miroku-sama standing at the well and waving to her, with violet robes curling around his toes_. 

And then it was gone, as soon as it had come.

She rose to her feet, supporting herself along the wall, and did what she could always count on in times of instinct, which this certainly was. She was running before she could feel it; she was screaming something to Souta, who was tagging at her heels, whining and trying to clutch at her uniform, and she threw open the well doors and _jumped jumped jumped-_

"...Oneechan?" Came Souta's thin voice, then, and it broke through her frustrated sobs. "Are... are you OK?"

"It won't let me through." She whispered, and leaned her forehead against the dark soil walls of the well, clutching her hands at her sides. "_It won't let me through._"

| ٭ - ٭ - ٭ |

Soft footfalls padded along shining halls, lips pursed, running words across torn throats in the rooms behind her. She wondered simply why he did not eat them; or why, for that matter, he kept humans there in the first place. He could have spared himself the trouble; mortals were nosy as hell, and frightened as fast a kitchen mouse would. It was really no wonder the place stank of corpses. She hated the smell. And she hated their torn hands that stuck on her robes, flesh eaten half away.

They really were disgusting creatures.

More pressing matters lingered at the back of her mind. He'd summoned her; she would come. She knew her fate -- to sit at his feet and let his teeth tear at her flesh, and for iron chains to wrap themselves around her wrists, and torture to come as ready as the wind. Her hands clenched at her sides, and her kimono flashed over the shining floors, stinking of human. _She would find a way to leave this hellhole._

She slid open the door, and bowed, her head close to the floor, anger pulsating through her blood with each beat of a non-existent heart. She hated this; she hated this, this feeling of confinement, of tearing, of being in a tiny little cage as a small bird, ready to fly out to the world, but not being able to see close enough to really live and breathe. "You sent for me," she whispered, and hated all of it.

"Hn."She could feel his breath on her neck, ringlets of smoke covering her face in haze, the heat of burning incense reaching her nose. She resisted the urge to gag, and moved her head slowly upward, red meeting black in a flash of wills that only took a second to end. She was the one who looked away first, disgusted with herself.

"Rise, Kagura," he breathed, and looked at her with coal black hair swirling over his shoulders in hazy curls that flew over the sides of his shoulders. And gazed at her with lips pulled over teeth in what could only be described as a smile, but she shied from that definition, knowing that he could not be capable of a smile. The bastard was not capable of laughter; he was not capable of smiling; he was not capable of love; but neither was she. And she cared little for that, in all fairness. She just wished for her life, and her life alone. "Rise, Kagura," he breathed, "and see what we have created, you and I."

She was silent, and he gave out a barking crack of the not-laughter, and caressed her cheek with pale and long fingers. "You," he said, and withdrew his hand, and she could suddenly breathe again, "have done well, for once, Kagura." He gestured upwards in an arc, and the not-smile was still there. "The great Gods have granted us with a great fortune, darling. They've given us _you_. And with you, we can do great things. Yessss," he hissed, and ran a finger down her cheek, grinning at her anger and fear. "Yess, child, we can do great things with _you_." 

Eyes closed, she faced him, as pieces of the flesh that she'd been torn from curled from around her body and came to rest at his sides, retreating within dark edges of dark robes. "Kagura," he said, suddenly, as she turned to face him, eyes wide and red and beautiful. "You will do it, Kagura. You have no choice in the matter. He is human." A grin. "He will suspect nothing."

She felt the pain of it burst inside her chest, and she fell to the floor, writhing in the agony that pounded in her head and chorused mockingly all around her, the Gods screaming in laughter down at what they'd created. And he laughed the not-laugh, and she screamed. And then she stood against the pain with the last glimmerings of hope left, and walked with what was left of her torn dignity out of the door, limping, oddly full of some emotion she could not place. _He will suspect nothing._

"Go in peace," he whispered, and spread his fingers over the candles, throwing shadows across the room. "_Daughter._"

| ٭ - ٭ - ٭ | 

Oh dear.

I really am evil, aren't I?

_Extra thanks to Rurouni Star, who is soooo cool for BETAing. Go hug her. She deserves it. And an extra HUG for Chrystaline, who drew me a SPECTACULAR piece of fanart! Go check out my user profile for the link. ;)_


	3. Submission

_For Kagura._

* * *

٭** Dawn **٭  
Chapter Three  
_Submission _****

The first thing Miroku noticed when he awoke was that he was floating.

The second thing he noticed when he awoke was that the person who had knocked him out in the first place was sitting in front of him, cross-legged, hands folded inside her kimono layers, looking at him with huge red eyes that were full of nothingness. That nothingness reminded him vaguely of something from his dream that he could not place, haze seeping through his eyelids, and then he remembered it: downy feathers crushing his legs and shock still covering his mind like a thick robe. He tried to stand, couldn't, and as a last move that he knew simply could not work for so many reasons, gripped the rosary beads around his right hand and bit his lip so hard he drew blood. 

He was knocked back to the side of the stem of the feather before he could try to move again by a pair of hairpins that she blew in his direction lazily, as they pinned his robes to the side of the feather. Two more pins struck the fingers on his left hand and the red tint to his vision disappeared with the sudden grasp of terrible pain all over his body. 

"Idiot," said the woman in front of him firmly, ran a hand full of long fingers through her thick black hair, and reached behind her, withdrawing a wad of clean strip bandages. "Didn't you learn anything from that half-wit's mistakes? Don't try and fight while you're _injured--_" Grabbing his hand before he could speak, she pulled out the pin with a yank, licked it clean of the blood layer over it, stuck it behind her ear, and wrapped a strip of the bandages around his palm. 

Grinning smugly up at him, she sat back, and he found that his tongue was suddenly working again. "We are..." he said weakly, and gripped at the edge of the feather that kept them in the air in an effort to hold back the insanity that crept up his spine. "Where are we?" 

"...Hmmph," she said, her eyebrows raised in a perfect arch, wrapping her hands back inside the folds of her kimono. "You're blazingly _calm _for one in such a compromising situation. Thank the hells you are not one of your... companions. How is it that you are so calm...?" She grinned a terrible grin, fangs split over tight lips, and, as if playing with a habit ages old, moved her fingers from the kimono sleeves and withdrew the long fan that he had come to dread, fingering it gently, pushing soft tufts of air into her face. "The hanyou boy would have tried to slice my stomach open by now." 

He nodded, once, acknowledging that, demon that she was, she still could speak the truth, however insulting it might be. He would not lose his head, now, he couldn't, and _he wouldn't_. "Answer my question, Kagura, and I will answer your own." 

She laughed. It was a sinful laugh. He wanted to strike her in the face, for that laugh, and for her being here: but he wouldn't. He couldn't; he had to tear the information he needed, and he needed to tear it from her. 

"Very well," said she, "we are on a feather torn from my hair that floats above Naraku's castle." She spat the name. He looked over the side, and saw, as he his eyes opened and shut against the harsh wind currents, the sprawling points of light gray that was Naraku's fortress, amongst the thick foliage of dark green and black. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Yes," she said, and clicked the fan open and shut, "we are floating here, and you owe me an answer, boy." 

"Why do you call me boy when you are younger than a yearling child?" 

"Why do you answer questions with questions?" 

"I am calm because I was made to be calm," he said simply, and tugged on the turquoise beads resting along his arm. "I was made to be calm, just as you are made to guard." He heard a sharp intake of breath, and he wasn't sure whose it was. "I cannot not stay calm forever. I will snap --" He rested his bandaged arm on his legs, seeing the liquid red of blood seeping through the sterile white, "--and so will you, and then answers will be answers and questions will be questions." 

"Hmmph." She looked at him from across the downy feather, drawing her fan into her dark sleeves. "You are smarter than I was informed of." She drew her knees to her chest, and rested her head against them. "You are certainly are different from your companions; although, not completely free of weaknesses, are we? You have that weakness for the female --" She snorted at his pale face. "--And yet, you have respect for those who are better than you in battle." 

"You are cunning," he said. "Too cunning. He has created you without cunning judgement on his part." 

"...You shouldn't really wonder how I came to be: it is none of your business. You are here for a..." She drew the fan to her lips, and tapped it against her mouth, contemplating. "..._Gamble_, houshi. You are not pure, _boy_, so you might not put up a fight to a compromise, will you? I do not have the time for this, and neither do you." 

He was silent: the images of Sango and Shippou torn and bloody lay just beyond reach at the back of his mind, pushed back to the place of his thoughts taken over by numb shock. And he wondered, and what he wondered made him sick. "...I will listen," he said hoarsely, and sick numbness spread through his mind. 

"I know where they are," she said quietly, and nodded to herself after a moment, silently. "I know where your kitsune child and your mate are, monk, and the hanyou boy stuck with the likes of Kanna." 

"...She is not my mate..." He covered his face with his torn robes, rubbing at the dry skin for the mere want of having something to do than lie there helpless as his enemy crowed over him like a haughty cock. Say little, do much, he whispered to himself, lying like a coward. And that burned, and so did the absent gaze of Sango that whispered words in the back of his head: he was a sinner. "She is not my -- you know _nothing_ of me. Do not even try to distract me --" He shook his head, and gave a soft grin. "I am _not_ as arrogant as Inuyasha, or as foolish as Kagome-sama. You can use nothingagainst me." 

"Be still!" she snapped, and knocked him lying flat. "You will hold your tongue in the presence of a lady -- you are a terrible monk, for one brought up in such a wonderful household. The grandson of a monk who was so close to..." She trailed off, sheathed her fan once more, and offered him her palms raised. "You are willing, then, to hear my offer?" 

"...I am willing," he whispered. 

"I will take you to them," she said, and began to wrap clean bandages around his arm -- he could not concentrate on anything as his focus was beginning to waver with pain. "I will bring you to the taiji-ya and the kitsune and the hanyou, and I release the miko girl --" His focus sharpened -- _Kagome-sama -- Inuyasha_? "--And _you_ will kill Naraku."

"No!" he snarled, and yanked his arm from her, not noticing the twitch of her face that waved over before she returned to the cool mask of indifference. _"I do not need _your_ permission to kill Naraku!"_

She was quiet for a moment, then turned away from him, and he was stunned. 

"Keh," she said after a moment, "-- You know what it is to be free. I _envy_ you for taking such things for _granted_." She turned toward him, liquid blood eyes ablaze, and tightened the last few dressings on his arm with a frustrated pull. "I cannot do it _alone_!" She cried finally, and her face convulsed in disgust. "I'm a simple fucking _puppet_, priest. There's not much I can do in the face of danger. I can't _eat_ without food turning to mush in my mouth, and I cannot roam the world like the wind is meant to, and I cannot -- I cannot breathe, anymore." And she was silent, then, horrified. 

He spoke after what seemed like ages. "I cannot trust you." 

She barked out a cruel laugh, and the mask returned once more. "Do you think I am _asking _you to? All I ask of you is to grant me this one wish: I will not make promises I cannot keep. I will return your idiot child and the demon hunter, and you will kill Naraku with your companions safely returned -- the miko girl and the hanyou and the kitsune and the taiji-ya." She moved her fingers over the base of the fan. "And of course, the Buddhist monk stained with a curse made by the one he is destined to kill. What more do you _ask _of me, boy?" 

"How will they be brought to me?" He whispered, and she breathed again. 

"I will bring you to their hiding place," she whispered back, and looked warily beneath her, to the shimmering castle below, the barrier winking up at her, her heart pounding in Naraku's palm. "But we _cannot be seen_. Kanna's mirror can reach the far ends of the earth, and I do not know how to thwart it..." She grinned up at him, and touched the scar along her back. "But _you _do." 

He closed his eyes. _The Holy one hates him who says one thing in his mouth, and another in his heart. Buddha forgives me; it is to save the lives of those who will save the world._

"I accept your offer," he said, and hated himself. 

٭ - ٭ - ٭ 

Mudou Yuka was worried. 

She had known the Higurashi family for as long as she could remember; her parents were friends with the old grandfather. He gave them discount on the shrine gift shop, and they let him talk himself out and fed him with the various fried food Yuka's mother carried around on her. Her father owned the neighborhood grocery; the Higurashi were always welcome: and that was where Yuka had met Kagome, toddling around with the small girl around the floor of her father's shop, sucking on lollipops and playing games and singing songs in the small, childish way that toddlers do. Kagome's mother would buy foods of all kinds and flowers by the dozen, and sing light words of praises towards Yuka, ruffling her hair. 

"They're a strange bunch, the Higurashi," her father would say after the family would leave, and smile fondly. "But they're fiercely loyal -- we wouldn't have them any other way. They're excellent shrine keepers, and excellent chefs." He would always pat his stomach. "I have _never_ tasted better ramen." 

Strange, she reflected, as she sat by a tree in the early afternoon just outside the Higurashi shrine. They are weird, she thought, and shifted her legs under her, gazing up at the shrine house from where she sat. But they had never been as weird as they had been this past schoolyear -- these past months -- these past days, even though she could remember times at when she had been defiantly angry at the rumors about the shrine protecting family. The strange, almost disconcerting aura around the place where she sat was worrisome; and she wondered, at times, what had happened to cause things to happen so. 

Kagome had been gone on the day of her fifteenth birthday, when it had started. She'd never climbed the steps to the bus. Yuka had wandered about the school campus calling her name, and had rushed home to call the Higurashi, worry staining her cheeks red. Kagome was never absent -- she held school in the highest regard -- Yuka had seen the other girl come to school and throw up half the time she was there just so she could learn advanced geometry. But when she had called no one had answered; no one had answered for days. 

And then, it seemed, forever after that, Kagome-chan had been absent for most of the school year, only returning for important tests -- and lately, not even then. Yuka would try and visit her, desperately, bringing piles of schoolwork, knowing how Kagome held schoolwork high above everything else, but would always be turned away by the old grandfather, as he swept the shrine floor. He would only accept the schoolwork, shake his head sadly at her, and continue to sweep the floor, singing strange songs ages old and mutter angrily about dog demons. So _he_ had ceased to give excuses, and _she_ had ceased to complain. 

She knew she was the only one who bothered, anymore. 

Yuka had tried again today, and there he had been, sweeping the steps. She had given him the books and schoolwork mutely, and he had nodded, and she had turned and walked from the shrine -- but had stopped, for some strange reason, at the huge tree surrounded by the whitewashed fencing, and had stared up at it. The God Tree: the shrine protected it. Some said it was more than five hundred years old. She believed it was much older: Yuka loved plants, and Kagome had loved them too, and she thought she still did: but she didn't actually know that, because she didn't know Kagome anymore. 

The short glimpses she'd have of Kagome, the girl had been thin and pale, and had taken most of the periods to sleep. She was obviously sick; half the time she'd stare into space, eyes glazed, and would randomly walk into things, and then not even notice various cuts along her body. Kagome-chan, they'd say, and send her home. You need to rest -- you are obviously too sick to come to school -- why would you do such a thing, if you are too ill to stay awake? She would object, and sing out weakly that she was fine, and then Hojo would come and she would accept a date from him and wander off and stick him up. Yuka didn't truly know what made the poor boy run around her like a lovesick puppy; he didn't seem to give up. And Kagome-chan was in love with another: everyone knew _that_. 

It had hurt when they'd found out. Once upon a time, Kagome had told her everything! And one day, randomly, out of space, I have another boyfriend! And he's rude, selfish, objective, evil, and he doesn't like me, ugh! And then, the one day they'd been able to meet him, he had been kind and courteous and caring and so obviously in love with Kagome, even if he was a bit strange: and Kagome was obviously in love with him, through and through. Yuka didn't blame her: he was a handsome guy. Strange, but handsome. And polite, too. Yes, very polite. 

...She would have told Kagome of such things. 

So now, here she was, sitting by a huge five-hundred-year-old tree, the white fence digging into her back, staring mutely down at her feet, drawing circles on the stone tiles of the shrine pathway. She didn't know what she was doing there -- but no, she did. She'd missed the God tree. She missed Kagome. She missed walking home with the sweet girl whose name had been on every boy's lips since they'd entered middle school, and she missed licking ice creams and seeing Kabuki and swinging at the playground. But she didn't know quite what she was doing there: she obviously was an obtrusion; she was just a girl sitting by a tree that was obviously something sacred, that she shouldn't even have been sitting by in the first place. What was she doing? Why was she here? Why was Kagome ill for three weeks at a time and then, randomly out of nowhere, reappearing for a day, sick and pale and drawn, before disappearing for longer periods and never answering her phone calls? _Where was her best friend?_

After a moment she swayed to her feet and grabbed her backpack, her throat swelling with worry and hope. Maybe Kagome would get better. _Maybe is not the right word_, she told herself fiercely, and trudged down the pathway towards the entrance. She would get better. 

But before she could return to the exit, the shrine-shed's doors opened with a click. 

She whirled around, and clapped her hands to her mouth, shock making her freeze in her steps, and had the worst feeling of déjà vu she'd ever experienced in her life. She'd had this dream before; she would be standing at the shrine at the edge of the entrance, and the shrine doors would open, and a girl would stand out, and she would be covered in blood, and the sun would just be setting over the swaying trees. The girl was standing there, and Yuka knew that girl. ...But no, no she didn't. Because that girl was tall, and browned by many days of endless voyaging in the sun, her clothes torn and ripped in places, long black hair hanging in limp strands damp with perspiration, blood streaming down her arms and legs. 

"...K-Kagome-chan...?" Yuka choked out, feeling bile rise up in the back of her throat and was trying to swallow it down. She stood there with her fingers to her lips, looking at the girl in front of her, bruised and bleeding. She was standing in front of her and she was real, and her eyes were full of weary fear, standing with her hands clenched at her sides and her lips drawn into a thin line. And she was sick, she was sick, blood rushing from the scrapes on her knees and arms and elbows and feet, her green-and-white uniform now stained with a deep, ferocious red. She couldn't feel her body: she was going to be sick, she knew it: this thing, this thing could not be her friend. It was... something, someone -- something _else_. 

"...Yuka?" Kagome asked faintly. 

She rushed to Kagome's side like she always did in her anxious dreams, and led her to the shrine seats by the well shed's doors, begging her to sit down and rest before she killed herself, a song singing out in the back of her head like a bird. "Kagome-chan --" She said, and her voice was high-pitched with fright, "--what are you _doing_ here? You should be _resting_! You'll kill _yourself _-- I mean, you'll _kill _yourself -- what were you _doing _in there, are you alright, have you eaten anything, what's going on, why are you --"

Kagome began to cry. 

Yuka was shocked mute. Higurashi Kagome did not cry! This girl in front of her was not -- could not... this could not be Higurashi Kagome, killer of icky gooey spiders that the other girls were afraid to touch, sweet and funny and beautiful Higurashi Kagome, whom half the boys in their grade were hung up on! This crying girl with her knees torn and bloody could not be Higurashi Kagome, whose mother made the best ramen and food that had ever been cooked in Tokyo, and whose little brother was the best athlete in his school! This was not Higurashi Kagome, who was lovely and polite to everyone she met: this was... someone else, someone Yuka did not know. But then she realized as the girl took huge breaths of air, and let out choked sobs, that this was _Kagome_, and Kagome was _crying_. 

Yuka grabbed the girl's hands, and looked fearfully up into her face, the face of the girl she thought she had known. "Kagome-chan! --" She half-screamed, almost hyperventilating with fear. "Kagome-chan, tell me what happened, before you fall into a million pieces and won't be able to get up again...!" 

"I c-can't!" The girl sobbed, and buried her face into her sleeve. "Y-you won't believe me -- no one will -- I tr-tried s-so hard, and I, I know something is wrong, and h-he's in danger, both of them, and, and, and she'll kill him, I know she will!" Huge, choking sobs escaped her lips, and tears covered her face like a heavy gloss. "He's trying to save them and he doesn't know _how_ --" And she broke out afresh, the small thin body she had shaking in its foundation with the heart-wracking gasps of air she tried to draw, and failed. 

"I will." She made a promise to herself, right then, that she would make up for all those days lost of not being able to be the friend she should have been, because something was wrong. And she had never found out what the girl named Higurashi Kagome had been born to do, born to be: no one had. So Mudou Yuka was going to save her best friend, and she was going to do it with courage, like she knew the old Kagome had been like. "_I'll believe you no matter what you say."_

"...Thank you," the other girl said after a moment, tears still streaming down her face in rivers. 

"You're welcome," she whispered back, and knew there would be no turning back. 

٭ - ٭ - ٭ 

Sesshoumaru, demon lord of the western lands, was content. 

His Rin danced joyfully among the lily pads on the pond that she bathed herself in, shaking her head like a puppy not yet a yearling child -- such was not far from the truth, he thought, and half-remembered his brother doing the same -- streaming water down from her cheeks. Her clothes were soaked to the point of translucency, and clung to her small, girlish thighs as she giggled and splashed around in the water like the girl she was, humming bits of songs of joy that burst like the clear bubbles she blew in the pond water. 

Jaken sat huffily a few paces away on the bank, watching the girl as she bathed and giggled; Sesshoumaru himself reclined quietly under the trees that lined the pond's source, a thin, bubbling creek that streamed over smooth rocks. It was nearly dusk; they had stopped for the night as the sun had reached the end of its journey towards the far horizon. Rin had begun to blink sleepily towards the end, and Sesshoumaru had done what he had always done in such situations: he nodded towards Jaken, who had sighed heavily and pulled the stumbling girl towards the pond, snapping at her angrily to bathe before she began to attract flies. And now she giggled sleepily amongst the frogs and lily pads, singing throatily as she threw water over her hair and pounced over long-legged storks who squawked indignantly as she giggled all the more. 

The demon lord set his eyes to the sunset and, turning his head slightly to his huffy servant mere paces away, called softly out as he always did. "Jaken," he said, and nodded at the toad-like creature that bobbed his head up and down respectively in turn, and stood, gripping the staff on which the two heads glared down at the ground so fiercely. Jaken hobbled humbly towards the pond's edge, wading in, pleased yet disgusted, and grabbed Rin's hair, grinning happily at the girl's pained squeal, pulling her half-fondly towards the bank, and throwing her on the shore. 

"_Jaaaaken-sama_," the girl whined, and rubbed her head with her small, girlish hands where the toad-youkai had grabbed at her hair. "Rin wasn't _through_ yet, Jaken-sama!" 

"Dry yourself off, child," the small youkai sighed half-heartedly, and fixed his bulging eyes on her disapprovingly. "You look like a fish, so soaked. Hmmph! And we stop, just for this! If it were just _me_ and Sesshoumaru-sama like old times, _we_ would not have to stop, and _we_ would not have to 'bathe', or whatever it is that humans do, because _I _never have to bathe, _I_ never have to rest, _I_ never cling to the master's robes and whine about being hungry or needing a 'bath' or being 'sleepy' or 'tired', _I_ never have to be so disgustingly --" 

"'Mmmkay, Jaken-sama," said Rin cheerfully, and patted the demon on the head affectionately in mid-sentence. "Jaken can stop talking now. Rin will dry off for Sesshoumaru-sama and go to sleep like a good girl. Rin doesn't want to be a bother to Sesshoumaru-sama." 

Jaken merely coughed a mumbling reply and pouted. Rin giggled. 

Sesshoumaru, watching the scene from a few paces, under the obliging trees, blinked slowly with huge, golden eyes, petting the pelt on his shoulder absent-mindedly, drawing little comfort from the gesture. This was... familiar, yes. Rin was familiar, as was Jaken, and the scene that was played out in front of him was so much familiar that it drew a curling of his lips inward, as he blinked on, oblivious. Rin was cheerful as always, and managed to provoke Jaken in a way no one else could. It provided small amusement, but amusement all the same; Sesshoumaru-sama was not easily entertained, and yet he was entertained by these small gestures of familiarity. Familiarity provided a stronghold of knowledge, if only briefly. He could count on these short episodes of amusement, if he could count on nothing else. 

He sat, quietly, and watched Rin dance sleepily around the fireflies, wringing out her long black hair and stumble into the long grasses, almost fast asleep before she hit the ground. He made a low sound of approving, deep in his throat, at that, and watched Jaken sit begrudgingly near the girl, flexing his webbed fingers over his chest, and closing his eyes in euphony. Sesshoumaru's companions slept, and Sesshoumaru himself watched, as he did every night that they stopped, and was for once not afraid to admit to himself that he was content. 

But the scent of Naraku came to him floating on the wind, and his eyes narrowed, and he rose, breathing in deeply, blinking slowly in quiet and dignified confusion. 

There was of course the scent of Naraku, the slightest turn of the wind bringing in the scent of a scent within a scent; the wind-sorceress's, as he knew the wind would bring. But yet still wrapped in that scent was another's, and it was not the mirror-child's as he would have expected, but someone altogether different in every way, and Sesshoumaru was caught off his guard, for the first time in quite an endless while. 

...The monk's scent? 

He drew his fingers to _tenseiga_ at his hip, and was not surprised to find it warm and pulsing with the slow energy that he was beginning to accustom with the sword. _Tenseiga_, he thought, and frowned, softly, beautifully, gracefully as always, and began to glide softly over the multitudes of waving field grass in the valley of their camp. _I know you well enough to trust you. I do this for you, and not for my brother or his companions, as you are able to find the knowledge for which I know. I do this for you as a way of repaying a debt, and nothing more, as you well know._

He glided softly away; and he was unaware at first of the soft, brown eyes that watched him go. 

* * *

The thanks for this chapter go out to Bikutoria, the fantastic person she is, for not only BETAing this chapter, but giving me some major lessons in characterization. ;) She could have been studying for college, or going on a cruise, but instead, she helped me, and had at least five philosophical discussions with me while I wrote this! Also, much thanks to Crimson, who was kind enough to BETA this chapter and give me cheerful praise when I most needed it, and pointing out certain mistakes without being to harsh about it. I demand that all of you go and hug the both of them. Also much thanks to Rurouni Star, Rae George, Lynnxlady, and Resmiranda, all of whom can provide proper inspiration when it comes to strange plotbunnies. This story is for you, my people! 

Achoo on you if you don't review! 


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